A Pair of Old Crocks - and a Pretty Parasol

A bit of a downturn for the poor Captain on Tuesday - his gout seems to have returned...  What next I wonder?

I too am limping painfully around. What a pair of old crocks we are.   Yet, only yesterday it seems, we were a young married couple. 

On a more Doubleplusgood note, it is the Circuit Overseer visit this week. He will have lots of encouragement for us.  Which is something we all need.

His first talk last night - the Thursday night meeting always moves to Tuesday night on the week of the C.O. visit - took as its theme 2 Peter 1:12, which says: For this reason I intend always to remind you of these things, although you know them and are well-established in the truth that is present in you.

And our brother went on to outline five points we can work on to help to keep us firmly established in the truth, as Satan's world will do all it can to coax, persuade, or force us off the narrow road that leads to live.

Here is another Emily Dickinson poem - an excuse for a butterfly photo for the blog. Emily was a discovery I made in my first year at Uni. I had never heard of her before. I have been a fan of her poetry ever since. 

Students were not political back in those days - well, maybe they were at the LSE, but not at my provincial redbrick. Which was  a relief looking back, as what did we really know about anything - let alone how we were going to set the world to rights?

That is a task that is beyond any human government, even the most well-meaning and the most well-experienced.  And it was certainly beyond a teenage student wrestling with the dilemma of buying her own groceries for the first time.

Anyway, to Emily's poem, praising the lovely creation, on a warm summer afternoon.  I love the way she describes the flight of the butterfly, and the image of the night as the tide coming in and obliterating all:

From Cocoon Forth a Butterfly

From Cocoon forth a Butterfly
As Lady from her Door
Emerged—a Summer Afternoon—
Repairing Everywhere—

Without Design—that I could trace
Except to stray abroad
On Miscellaneous Enterprise
The Clovers—understood—

Her pretty Parasol be seen
Contracting in a Field
Where Men made Hay—
Then struggling hard
With an opposing Cloud—

Where Parties—Phantom as Herself—
To Nowhere—seemed to go
In purposeless Circumference—
As 'twere a Tropic Show—

And notwithstanding Bee—that worked—
And Flower—that zealous blew—
This Audience of Idleness
Disdained them, from the Sky—

Till Sundown crept—a steady Tide—
And Men that made the Hay—
And Afternoon—and Butterfly—
Extinguished—in the Sea—

https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-cocoon-forth-a-butterfly/